The Beast of North Mountain
by HerbalMaiden
Summary: Sandor Clegane is a nameless tournament knight supporting his sister and mother. With a fresh start in the North, Sandor's wild sister takes a wrong turn that leads him on the one challenge he never looked to: love. A/U Beauty and the Beast themed story. Sandor isn't scarred, and Sansa is a beast
1. The Hound

Sandor Clegane was the eldest of three siblings, the responsible one, the bigger man. Despite the cruelty of his drunken father and the monster his younger brother had become, Sandor had followed the path his mother inspired, those stories of chivalrous knights who rescued fair maidens, assisted the elderly, and championed for good.

At the age of fourteen, Sandor's father had drunk himself to an early grave. A giant of a man, the drink and an ill-fated tavern brawl had lead to the man's corpse arriving via a mule cart at the door of their humble home. Sandor had become the head of the family. Gregor, his twelve year old brother, was quickly reaching him in size. His sister was but five years old, hopefully too young to remember the abuse they had endured.

Their mother had been heavily weakened by Elina's birth and she was unable to provide for her children, save for the bits of clothing repair she took in for their closer neighbors. Sandor had taken his role with the utmost honor. Already a squire at the time of his father's death, the eldest son took his breadth and height to his advantage and began entering the lists as a silent champion, soon to be known as simply the Hound.

The tournaments started close to home, minor southern affairs that would take him less than a day's ride from the small village. He had won and lost some in the beginning. But as Sandor grew and he found more experienced knights to fight, his talent hit a soaring point without plateau. Sandor was a fine jouster, that won him silvers at first. Then came the melees of the larger tournaments, where standing in dented armor he remained the last standing. The years passed and Sandor found himself traveling further from home, bringing back more and more gold. He was known only by the hound shaped helm he wore to compete - the name Clegane still frowned upon in most of the South.

Eventually, Sandor had saved enough money to buy his mother and sister a fine home in the North, where the name Clegane meant nothing. The last years had been a struggle for his family, as his brother had grown and taken after their father. Gregor had been prone to outbursts and fits of violence. Sandor had tried to quash the instinct in him, training him in his spare time as they counted coins each month for the rental of the house they resided, to put food they were unable to grow on the table. That was until Sandor came home one day to find Gregor's massive hands around his sister's throat. He'd pulled the boy off in time and tossed him into the winter night, and banished him from their home. But that had not been enough, it seemed, to keep the Clegane's safe from further scrutiny.

Gregor had become an outlaw of the worst degree, a band of ruthless followers magnetized to his cruelty and intimidating bulk. He flaunted his name with egotistical notoriety. Rape, thievery, murder were the whispered rumors that flew from town to town. And Sandor stood it no longer.

With a cart and his horse, Warrior, Sandor packed his mother and sister and the few belongings they had. They left the only home they had ever known on a crisp autumn dawn for the mountains to the North.

It did not take long for Sandor to settle his sister and mother in the small stone house they had bought outright with a meager portion of his winnings. The North had no use for knights, of which Sandor was not if only by title, so he sold his blade to a local Innkeeper to keep peace at night when the tavern filled and the ale flowed. He kept the house and small farm during the day, while his mother taught Elina to read and write, and sing songs that had always inspired Sandor to be the men his father and brother were incapable of being.

Sandor returned in the late night of his nameday, surprised to find his mother waiting at the kitchen table for him next to a roaring hearth. He could smell his favorite stew wafting through the air. Elina's soft snores could be heard from her room.

His mother patted the seat beside her in welcome.

"Twenty-one name days, Sandor," she rasped, her voice weaker each day. "You are a handsome man, stronger and kinder than any man has right to be. Should it not be time to find a wife?"

Sandor smiled easily at her. His naturally sullen face of sharp angles and a prominent nose lit up as he exposed his straight white teeth in a grin that reached the corners of his eyes in a crinkle. Despite all the hardships and trials he had endured to allow himself and his family to survive, he was quick to laugh and nearly always had a bounce to his step.

"You and Elina are my family," he assured her. "What more do I need? We have a fine home, and we never have to endure summer heat," he teased as he gently squeezed her hand.

She smiled back at him. "You deserve a wife to love you, children of your own. Elina will marry one day, and I will always be your mother."

Sandor laughed loudly. "Elina is a wild one. I'll praise the man who manages to tame her."

Sandor's mother sighed with mock exasperation. "All those years you wore that awful helm, and you couldn't find a tournament for a princess's hand?"

"I certainly have no need for a princess," Sandor chuckled. "Just a village girl, preferably with red hair and blue eyes."

"I'll keep my eyes peeled." She stood up and leaned on the table for a moment before brushing Sandor's thick black hair with her lips. "Happy Nameday, Sandor. May the gods bless your selfless soul."

Sandor ate his fill of the venison stew, thick with extra potatoes as he liked. The slight oversalted broth gave testament to Elina's "help" in the kitchen affairs. He left more than enough over the dying embers for his sister and mother to partake. Dawn broke over the mountain top as he laid himself to sleep.

"Sandor!" rasped in his ear, causing him to bolt upright in his bed, the furs already crumpled aside as he had tossed and turned from the howling that never failed to call down from the mountain. "She's gone!" his mother frantically continued as he wiped sleep from his eyes.

"Elina?"

"Who else?" she cried. "She had left this morning, going on and on about the wolf songs as she readied for the market. The tales these locals tell of the beast on the mountain!"

"I've heard them a time or two," he replied, waiting for her to calm as he pulled on his socks and boots to ward off the cold floor. "What of it?"

His mother thrust a worn piece of parchment in his hands. The ink was blotchy with haste, sloppy as always for Elina.

"I sent her to the market this morning, and you know the rule! She's to be home by dusk," Sandor nodded in agreement. He had made the rule. "She still isn't home. And I found this in my sewing basket this afternoon."

'Don't worry, Mother, and don't bother Sandor! Off to find his nameday gift, one fit for the Hound. - Elina'

At age twelve, Elina was a capable girl. Sandor had taught her well when it came to the wilderness and hunting, but she often tried to do things beyond her teachings, always trying to surpass Sandor in the timeless competition of siblings. He fingered the note gently before he set it on his desk and strode into the main room of the home. He had an idea of what Elina intended to bring him, and it was utter madness. A wolf pup. He had spoken of getting hounds for them to breed, good hunting dogs for the people of the North. But a wolf was another matter entirely.

He slung his thick cloak over his shoulders and strapped his familiar weapons to his person before turning to his mother. She had sunken into her rocking chair, her fingers tight in her lap. Sandor knelt with ease in front of her, and held her white-knuckled hands within her own.

"I have some idea where she went," he assured her. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Wood is stocked already, and there is stew left for supper. You'll take care of yourself while I'm away." Although his voice was always tender, the deep resonance and wording brooked no question. It was a command.

Sandor's frail mother nodded. "Of course. Please, please find her."

Sandor nodded before he rose, dipping low to hug his mother gently in farewell.

When he stepped outside to saddle Warrior in his stable, he was shocked to find his mother had let him sleep the day away. The sky was deep red with the sun slipped low beyond horizon. He pondered where to start as he saddled his faithful companion. The stabled locked and he comfortable on Warrior's back, he looked to the sky where the North star twinkled innocently at him. It wasn't until he and Warrior were well onto the trail head that he noticed the wolves no longer howled.


	2. Elina

There is only one God and his name is George R.R. Martin. I own nothing of his. This is not for profit, pure guilty pleasure.

REVIEWS ARE LOVE! Shout outs to those who took the time to send their thoughts on the first chapter, you are much appreciated and keep me motivated!

ELINA

Elina cradled one of the wolf pups in her arms. It was not simply a wolf pup, but a direwolf pup. The creature was but a babe, its eyes a shocking blue that stood out sharply against its charcoal grey coat.

It had not taken long to find the trail that lead higher and higher upon the haunted mountain, where the howling never ended and the snows never ceased. Elina had bundled herself in her sturdiest winter clothes and taken the knife Sandor had gifted her on her last nameday. A bow and quiver were slung familiarly across her back.

The sky had become darker the further north she traveled. To the point where she could no longer differentiate the howls of forceful winds or ever closer wolves, Elina had trudged forward with determination. She knew her mother would find her note and be overcome with worry. Sandor would be furiously disappointed in her recklessness. But Elina had hoped the direwolf pup would put a damper on his anger.

Her hands ruffled the scruff of the pup's neck gently. Elina imagined the massive wolfhounds her brother would breed and smiled at the thought of him no longer having to work nights with the drunks he so despised. Though she knew part of that unprovoked hatred was a deep sadness that he strove to hide from her and mother.

If she ever made it home with the pup that was.

Elina hadn't believed half the lore the locals told. She certainly hadn't believed the song of a great abandoned castle high on the mountain side, a part of the natural rock formation. That was until she had reached its gates.

Massive stone wolves lined the battlements, and the iron gates were wrought in their image, snarling at possible intruders. Despite its threatening figures, the gates had remained wide open, growling against its hinges as a breeze drifted past.

Elina had tried to imagine what Sandor would have done at such a fearsome entrance. The Hound was no coward, and she was as much as hound as he.

A brief assessment, and Elina had straightened her shoulders and marched past the stone wolves. She had placed her feet carefully over the ice-slicked stone walk. Knowing the castle existed, Elina briefly wondered if a princess had truly frozen to her weirwood throne within the halls. The Stark Kings and Queens had been gone for centuries, mere legends in the grand scheme of history.

But as she had continued on, Elina noticed the neatly maintained grounds, suggesting someone must live here. She would not steal from the owner. Brave and mostly courteous like her brother, she had intended fully to ask and pay for a wolf pup. The pouch of coin weighed comfortingly at her hip. She had saved her allowances for years for a moment such as this.

Though she had intended to knock on the great front doors, the sound of whimpering stilled Elina's fisted hand. She looked back once at the great white weirwood doors, tinged with the red of long dried sap. The carved scenes were intricate and eerie, but Elina did not feel remorse to follow the wolf cries instead.

Another winded trail, farther up the mountain side had lead Elina to a less grand set of gates. More stone and iron wolves silently snarled at her. The gates entrance had been left open much to her delight. Within the gates was a sheltered wood, where no greenery was seen. Weirwood trees of every sized filled the seemingly endless space, where the stone walls vanished behind the thick wood.

Elina had lifted up her boots high between steps. The snow was deep and thick, and it had threatened to pull her boots from her stocking feet. It did not take long for her to narrow the whimpering to the raised snarling roots of a gargantuan tree. Six pups were nestled amongst each other. Elina had been unable to stop her hands from gently lifting the darkest and largest of the litter from its comfort. A smile from ear to ear, she had tucked the wolf into the safety of the satchel she had carried just for this purpose.

Elina had been prepared to approach the owners of the enchanted place. Or so she had thought.

When she returned to the iron gates, they had been closed, not to budge against all her attempts. The lock had encased itself in a block of ice that refused to be scratched or chipped no matter how many times she brought her blade down on it.

Resolute in finding the owner, Elina had looked to climb the walls that encased the weirwood forest. But the stones seemed to have grown taller in the time she had searched for the wolf pups. The walls were easily four times the height of her giant brother. The weirwoods that may have reached the stone wolves that topped the walls were in the center of the wood, leaving only saplings at the borders.

Undeterred, Elina had thought she could build a ladder. But she tossed the idea aside nearly as quickly as it had come to her mind. Though her mother followed the faith of the Seven and her brother seemingly believed in no Gods, Elina had taken to the traditions and beliefs of the North with ease. It was a great sin to cut down a weirwood, gods in the eyes of the Northern people. And as she had studied her surroundings, she noticed every single tree was carved meticulously with a face. Some were old and lined with heavy sap, creating bloody tears and mouths. Others looked as freshly cut as yesterday.

She had approached the gate once more, only this time Elina faced a most a startling sight.

Elina had thought it a wolf at first, with its paws against the iron bars. But in the dim winter dusk, it had taken her a moment to recognize the tattered remains of a dress it bore. And it had not been paws against the iron, but furred hands. The fingers were long and thin, and white claws extended from them to undoubtedly sharp tips. Its face was long and pointed, a pink snout emitted puffs of air into the cold. Elina hadn't failed to notice the sharp white teeth that slipped past its closed lips in sheer length. Pointed ears protruded amongst the deeply red hued fur that fully encompassed the creature. And its blue eyes had been trained on Elina with a mixture of distaste and acute curiosity.

"You are a thief," it had accused her with a surprisingly human voice, laced with a low growl. The creature seemed to be female the more Elina had observed. "And now you must pay my price."

Elina had shaken her head. Her gloved hand had swiftly untied the coin purse from its loop. She had not even managed to push it toward the gates before a snarl stopped her.

"What need have I for metal coins?" she barked. Elina was briefly reminded of her brother's booming laughter, short rough spurts of sound strung together.

"I intended to pay you," Elina had tried to explain. "I only wanted a nameday gift for my brother."

Her excuse had given the creature pause. "What need does a man have of a wolf?"

Elina had smiled despite her precarious situation. "He is a Hound. And so am I."

"You don't look a hound," she had sniffed haughtily back. "But if you speak true – "

"A Hound never lies," Elina had retorted sharply.

The beast narrowed her eyes at the interruption. "Then you should live happily amongst my direwolves," she had growled at Elina. "This is their home, and my pets are well cared for."

Elina's hands had wrapped around the cold iron bars. "But what is y our price if you won't accept my gold?"

The wolfwoman's lips pulled back in a gruesome smile, exposing more pearly teeth in the light of the rising moon. "The price was not for my wolf, but your thieving ways. And for that, you will remain here, a hound amongst wolves." The animal's eyes had twinkled as she spoke with a queer sort of merriment. "After all, hounds and wolves are not so different."

Elina had swallowed hard. "My mother will worry."

"You might have thought of your mother's heart before you traveled so far from her bosom to trespass on my home," the creature replied as it began to turn away.

"My brother will come for me," Elina had threatened in her moment of fear.

The wolfwoman had paused and glanced over her shoulder. "So be it. I look forward to meeting this hound." She snapped her teeth in a moment of bitterness. "Perhaps he will show more courtesy than you and choose to knock on the door."

Elina had pulled her hands away, defeated for the moment. The wolfwoman walked further, letting out a long sweet howl that blended with the wind. She was responded to at least a hundredfold by her brothers and sisters of tooth and fur. Elina had wondered how many wolves were in the wood with her.

Darkness had settled long ago, and Elina remained in the weirwood roots in which she 'd found the pups. Indeed, she had become a hound amongst wolves. Elina patted the dark wolf pup and refused to cry.

Sandor would come for her.


	3. The Beast

Reviews are love! I own nothing belong to his Grace: George R.R. Martin. I purely do this for guilty pleasure, no profit! The Beast

The Beast once had a name. Sometimes, when the howls quieted and the stars glittered through streams of moonlit snow, she could nearly feel it on the tip of her tongue. It was on the verge of becoming extinct. No one had spoken to her for many centuries. There were Starks no longer in the world, a breed now down to the last. In her dreams, the Beast remembered exactly why she had become the creature she remained. In those times, her chest pounded when she woke and she felt a shame she had long forgotten.

Most trespassers decided against intruding at the sight of her gates. Those who didn't the Beast would scare off with a member of her direwolf family via warging. If in a foul enough mood, the Beast would pay a visit to the gates herself. Over the years, her home had been forgotten by locals, and those who visited were either genuinely lost, or young men come to prove their bravery, what little they had of it. The Beast was made of sterner material.

But the Beast had watched through the stone eyes of her gate wolves and had been mildly surprised to find a young girl at the entrance. Her attire and practical survival items suggested she had not come on a dare, nor was she lost in the mountainous terrain. The scenes of strung carcasses of enemies hanging from weirwood branches carved into the main doors had done nothing to deter the child either.

The Beast had felt a curiosity rise in her, and she had left the confines of the castle to observe from the shadows. The girl stepped with a precision that the Beast snorted at. The child walked like a southern fool on ice. But once accustomed to the stone path, she had moved swiftly to the sanctuary where the direwolves kept their young.

The Beast had not been pleased when the girl lifted the pup. Her displeasure morphed to unbridled fury when the child placed the wolf into her bag. With her raging blood that flowed through the grounds of her ancestral home, the gates closed and sealed themselves once more and the walls grew from the frozen earth to tower the Godswood.

With a perverse joy, the Beast watched as the girl struggled with the gates and saw the prison the Godswood had become. As she smelled the faintest whiff of fear on the breeze, the Beast moved to the gates and waited for her trespasser to notice.

The Beast reclined in weirwood throne and recalled the conversation that had followed. What humans called themselves hounds? Not only called themselves hounds, but had the gull to threaten the likes of her? In her very own home? Curiosity peaked in her once more. The Beast snorted to herself and saw the snow fall more heavily through the paned windows. A hound without fur, the girl would fare for only a short time in the harsh cold of the Godswood.

The gates of the Godswood melted its icy lock and swung open with a creak. The Beast strode in with a purpose, her paw prints light on the snow. The girl was not entirely a fool. She had tucked herself amongst the pups within the shelter of a weirwood to conserve what heat she had.

"Come," the Beast barked impatiently.

The girl blinked her frozen lashes and held the Beast's gaze with a stubborn intensity before she rose stiffly. She had begun to set the dark pup down amongst its litter mates.

"Bring the pup with you," the Beast growled. "You've come all this way for it after all."

The girl barely kept up with the Beast as she stalked from the wood toward the castle.

"Will you let me return home?" the girl asked, as she jogged to keep in step. "I'll pay you still, I'll work in exchange for the pup – "

The Beast rounded on the child as they approached the open doors to the entrance hall. "I promised no such thing, and a few hours' time has not changed the uselessness of coinage for me." She grabbed the collar of the girl's shirt and pulled her into the warmth, the fires lit in every hearth. The doors slammed behind them. "What good is a dead hairless hound to me?"

The girl yanked herself away and cradled the pup in her arms securely. "I have a name," she declared sharply.

"My wolves have no names spoken by human mouths, why should a dog?"

"A hound," the girl growled right back at her. "And you may call me Elina."

"So be it," the Beast replied. "The castle is yours to roam. You will find no exit, so do not waste your efforts. Meals are served at seven, noon, and six in the dining hall. The direwolf is yours to care for." She continued to move toward the throne room, the girl on her tail once more. She strode up to her weirwood seat and sat with a flourish, belying her wolfish appearance. She waved her hand in dismissal. "Find yourself a room, with the exception of the North tower. Those are my quarters. Go."

The girl did not budge. "My brother, The Hound, he will come for me still."

The Beast pulled her lips back in a feral grin. "As I told you before, I look forward to meeting him."

"You won't hurt him, will you?" the girl breathed out, showing her youthful worry.

"Only if he gives me just reason." The Beast retorted. "Now go, I tire of you."

The girl hesitated before she turned on her heel and briskly walked away.

The Beast knew the child could not hide from her within these walls. She looked forward to breakfast. It had been a long time since she'd used the human's common tongue, and the girl spoke it well, despite her brash tones toward her.

Breakfast was on the table. The wolves hunted for her mostly, and the Beast cooked the food herself. The glass gardens provided what meager vegetables and fruits she enjoyed, though mostly meat satisfied her cravings. Sometimes she would hold a ripe lemon in hand and could remember confections made of it, sweet and tart in a single bite. But the Beast no longer knew how to make such things.

"You're late," she snarled at the girl.

Elina padded forward in her thick woolen socks and the direwolf pup trotted with the uncoordinated grace of babes. Her dress was crumpled from being slept in. "My apologies –" The girl paused mid-sentence. "What should I call you?"

"Men call me Beast."

"I'm not a man," the girl replied firmly. "And Beast is not a name."

"The years have stolen my name from me," the Beast insisted. "Call me what you will."

The girl picked up a piece of bacon and slipped it to the pup. "I shall think on it."

"So be it," the Beast replied. "Your attire is unacceptable. There are clothes that would fit you in the western wing."

The girl's spoonful of porridge stopped midway to her mouth. "My clothes? What about your – "

"Finish your meal and do as your told, Elina," the Beast intoned, brooking no argument. Elina was heavily reminded of her brother's voice when he had tired of her antics after a long day.

"Yes," she replied sullenly.

The rest of the meal endured uncomfortably in silence. Once the plates were clean of food, the Beast wiped her muzzle with the delicacy of a lady.

"I apologize for my shortness," the Beast told the girl serenely. "I have had only the company of my wolves for too long. But with you here, perhaps I will have a new purpose." She opened her mouth as if to say more, but her teeth closed with an audible snap.

"Perhaps," Elina agreed.

The girl's words were obedient enough, but the Beast was no imbecile. She sensed the tension in the air, and Elina's silent rebellion.


End file.
